


I'll Do Better.

by OnlyHereForGallavich (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Cheating, Daddy!Gallavich, Domestic!Gallavich, Gallavich, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mania, Medication, Protective!Mickey, Romance, Sex, Support, True Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 14:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10192436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OnlyHereForGallavich
Summary: 5 times Ian tried sticking with his pills, and one time he really did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hii guys!
> 
> Just an idea I couldn't get out of my head! I should be studying for finals but... this happened. So.
> 
> This gets pretty angsty, so hold on tight. And please note that every case of bipolar is seperate. But as far as I have researched, Ian's particular type of bipolar often leads to hypersexuality and aggression as shown in this fic. This is in no way a representation of BD as a whole!
> 
> hope you enjoy xx

   Ian was in a good place. Or so he thought. He didn't miss the worried glances everyone gave him; like he was a bomb waiting to explode. He didn’t like the way _Mickey_ looked at him; like he was broken in some way he couldn’t fix. Ian was fine! Better than fine! He had never felt this happy before in his life. He had Mickey, Yev, and a job at the club, his family down the street. Everything was great; it was perfect. He didn't _need_ the fucking pills everyone was shoving into his face every five minutes. So he flushed them. He flushed them over and over again, convincing himself that that was the right thing to do.

 

**1.**

    The first time Ian had tried having those pills was after he had tried taking Yev to Disneyland. While he was sitting in prison, maybe the realities of what he had done hit him. He took a one year old kid away, with no diapers, no food, and no plan. It was fucked up to say the least. And the worst part was that when Ian had emerged from lock-up, Mickey hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t shouted or told Ian what a fuckup he was; he had just hugged him close like he would let him go and asked the guards what the fuck they were looking at if anyone dared to look at the crazy, baby-stealing teen in their midst the wrong way. Ian loved him; jesus, he loved him so much that he tried. Two weeks. It lasted two weeks. And then he flushed them one day. One day turned into two, and then a week. Ian kept telling himself _tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll take ‘em,_ but tomorrow never seemed to come.

 

**2.**

   The second time was because of Yev. Because going up meant coming back down. Hard. Being unmedicated while manic took him to highs he had never known; no matter how many weird drugs the Southside had introduced him to. So it only made sense that being unmedicated while in his depression phase; he reached lows so deep he couldn’t even recognise himself.  Or the people around him. So when baby Yev, crawling a bit now, clambered up to him and touched him on the face, he had struck out. With his words, thankfully not his hands, but the yelled, _“Stay the fuck away from me!”_ was enough to set the little boy off. The moment Ian heard Yev’s wails; he knew he had made a mistake. Yev screamed his head off, until Mickey came rushing in. “Hey bud,” Ian heard Mick say, “It’s okay. Ian’s just feeling a little sick, okay? We’re going to leave him alone for a bit.” Yev quietened down a little, letting out soft gasps in his father’s arms. Ian had never felt worse. So he tried. He took the pills; this time only getting to two days before he was puking them up and shoving them out of his mind again. He wouldn’t hurt Yev again. He _loved_ Yev. He could control himself without the fucking meds.

 

**3.**

The third time was because Lip was being an asshole. Nothing new, but sometimes Lip’s being an asshole put a mirror in front of the person he was talking to. They were having a typical Gallagher cookout, and Ian could see Mick grabbing a beer with Kevin across the room. Everything was good, everything was great. He hadn’t been manic, or low in a while. It was going good. It seemed like a win to him. Of course Lip had to bring it all up and ruin it. “Hey, Ian,” he began. Ian could already sense this conversation wasn't going in a good direction, “You remember that clinic we were telling you about? You ever get around to going there?” Ian felt sickened. “Fuck off Lip. I don’t need to go to a fucking clinic. I’m fine. We’re fine.” Lip let out a sardonic laugh, “Fine huh? You still fucking around on Mickey and coming home to him every night?” Ian glared at him, shushing him, “Keep your fucking voice down!” Lip shook his head, “You think he doesn’t know? He knows, Ian. Think of what you’re doing to him.”

 

    That had made Ian feel guilty enough to take the pills. He even finished an entire month’s prescription before he flushed his meds again. Mickey was really proud. Until he wasn’t anymore. Ian couldn’t meet his eyes when they started seeing the signs again. So he made sure to fuck him facing away every night.

 

**4.**

    Lip was right. Mickey knew. Ian had hoped that Mickey hadn’t caught whiff of his m-m... manic (it was hard to say, even in his mind) behaviour. But he found out for sure that Mickey knew one day when they went to the grocery store. Ian was barely paying attention to what they had bought; the pair was busy laughing and messing around in the aisles. It wasn't until he got home and started unpacking the groceries that he noticed a box of condoms at the bottom of the pile. He pulled it out, confused. Mandy had moved out and Svetlana and her girlfriend sure as hell didn't need condoms. He held them up questioningly in front of Mickey’s eyes. Mickey looked down. He clearly wasn't ready to have this conversation. “Yeah, I need you to start wearing those when we fuck, Gallagher.” Mickey had said, still not meeting his eyes. Ian felt sick. Mickey _knew._ They had fucked bareback since they were teenagers. That was how they did it. That was _them._ “Mick...” he began, trailing off because he had nothing to say. Mickey shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, “S’okay. I’m not mad or some shit. I just... I don’t know who you’ve been with. We can’t afford another disease, okay?”

 

    The very idea of having to fuck Mickey with a condom on because he was too much of a flight risk had made Ian both guilty and defensive enough to stop. To have those pills (again). It lasted a while, like it always did. They started fucking bareback again, until one night Ian wordlessly reached for the forgotten condoms. He let Mickey pretend he wasn’t crying. Ian didn't bother pretending.

 

**5.**

    The last failed try was because of money. Because he figured out that Mickey was starving himself so Ian, Yev and Svetlana could eat while trying to afford Ian’s medication. He saw Mickey; awake all nights, rubbing a hand over his tired face while he stared at endless bills. He watched Mickey doing riskier shit to keep their lights on and Ian’s pill bottles filled. The idea of flushing all that hard work and effort down the toilet, _literally,_ made him feel sickened with himself. So he started the regime up for a bit; figured that if Mickey’s wouldn’t stop buying them, at least he could utilise them. But one day Frank asked him for a pill to get high off of. This gave Ian an idea. He started circulating the pills, selling them to randoms on the street. He gave the cash to Mickey and Mickey took it gratefully (he had long stopped questioning Ian’s activities; knowing half of what Ian told him would be lies anyway).

 

**+1**

    The last time was because of Mickey. Because everything came back to Mickey; it always did. Ian was manic, had been for a while now. Ian being manic was no longer a cause of family meetings and stress all around. It was almost like a part of their daily lives. Mickey gave him tired glances, too worn out to fuck. That pissed Ian off. Mickey wouldn’t yell at him, fight him, nothing. Treated him like fucking china. That pissed Ian off. So he took Mickey back to the empty land under the L-tracks and beat the shit out of him. He wasn’t conscious of it; of hurting Mickey, of leaving him there to bleed. Ian would have never let it happen if he knew what he was doing. But he didn’t. And he had.

 

   That night, when he came home, the house was empty. Completely. No Mickey, no Svet, no Yev. Empty. He wondered where they all were. He decided to go to the Gallagher house to check if they were there (sometimes Mick took Yev there, when Ian was in bad stages). When he knocked on the door, Fiona had opened it and her first reaction was to punch him, _hard,_ across the face. At first it was refreshing, someone wasn’t treating him like glass. But then he shoved her away, crying, “The _fuck,_ Fi?!” She grabbed his arm wordlessly, muttering something under her breath. She got him onto the el, Ian confused as hell as he followed her. When they got off and reached the hospital, he finally decided enough was enough. “What the fuck are we doing here?” He implored, “Fi, _what_ is happening?”

 

   She looked at him with rage he had never seen in her eyes before. “What’s _happening,_ you piece of shit,” she said with dangerous quiet, “Is that your _boyfriend_ is in that hospital right now and you don’t even _care._ ” Ian felt like someone was choking him. “ _Mickey?_ Mickey’s in the hospital? _Why?_ What happen...” He was unconsciously moving inside, his body answering to the call that _Mickey needed him, Mickey needed him._ “ _You_ happened, Ian,” she responded, making him even more confused, “I know you’re sick, but you can’t do this to him, Ian. You can’t just _hurt_ him and then _leave_ him!”

 

   _“Hurt_ him? Fi, I would never...” he trailed off as he caught sight of his knuckles, bruised and battered. He was going to be sick, he concluded, he was going to be sick all over the plush carpet of the hospital. “I... where is he? How is he?” He asked. “He’s stable,” Fiona answered, “They think he had a mild concussion, though.”

 

    One trip to the bathroom to puke, a slap across the face from Svetlana and looks from his family that made him feel horrible later, he found himself alone in the room with Mickey. Mickey was awake, but he looked to the side, away from Ian’s gaze. They were silent, both trying to absorb the situation. “Mickey,” Ian tried to begin, only to have Mickey hold up a hand for silence. Ian complied. “I know you’re sick. And I know it’s hard. I know that it sucks to live on meds and it’s going to be tough and it’s not going to magically fix you,” Mickey began, “And I want to be here for you, Ian. I’ve _tried._ But I will _not_ be my mom, Ian. And Yev won’t grow up like I did.”

 

   Ian felt sick as he realised Mickey was talking about growing up with Terry, about watching his mom getting beat up and constantly feeling at risk. “You aren’t Terry, Ian. You’re _good_ and you love Yev and I know you’d never hurt him on purpose. But I need you to get better if you want to be near him. _I_ can take this,” he gestured towards his battered state, “But our son can’t.”

 

   It was that _our_ that broke him. _Our_ son. Even after it all, after all the shit Ian had pulled, Mickey still considered him family. Considered him as good as Yev’s father. He sobbed and curled up next to Mickey’s side, whispering _I love you’_ s and _I’ll do better_ ’s and _I’m sorry’_ s.

 

   This time he meant it.

 

   Not just the _I love you_ part; that had always remained true.

 

   But the _I’m sorry_ and _I’ll do better._

   He was sorry, and he did do better.

 

   Years later, on meds the entire time, Ian would survey his little family and hug his son and kiss his husband and think that he did good.

 

   He did really good.


End file.
